"pleather" poems
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
You are smooth against my skin.
Your surface is cool and inviting
As it wraps around my torso-
Like a protective blanket
You are my security,
Blue pleather bomber jacket.
I pick at your skin and it falls apart.
The zipper, like your bottom teeth,
Are crooked and misaligned.
You shrug over my shoulders,
But leave my chest defenseless.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
I bet you cost a fortune.
Almost as much as your nonprescription glasses,
Though you break just the same
Like the promises you keep making.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
You never kept me warm
Just less affected by the
cutting winds of your back lash.
But when I fall asleep at night
I sleep beside the indent of your absence.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
You are just now brand new,
Though your skin is already worn through
And your lining thinning by the second.
I trusted you,
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
To protect me from the cold.
Though you slump lazily
Over others' shoulders,
Not really caring I've been waiting
With my shoulders bare and frigid.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
I thought you were one of kind.
But I see your manufactured gaze
Walking down the street,
Sitting across from me on the bus.
Go on, blue pleather bomber jacket,
Temporarily dangling over person after person.
Soon I will see you dangling
On the rotting hanger in a thrift shop,
Years from now looking preserved in your waning beauty.
Blue pleather bomber jacket,
Your trend is dying and your color fading.
I have been snagged by your imperfections for the last time.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 11:24 AM UTC
no novocaine, no experience
the nurse on break
tells me to "wait right there."
the big lights above the pleather chair
my pale skin illuminated and glowing
under rays of white white light -
and I'm tied down like a
banded submissive
to a blacker than black chair
it's only me and invisible monsters
in a game of
cat mouse tick tock
tick tock
sweating, I realize I must move
there's no other option for this lab rat
I feel like
All I've ever been, is here -
sprawled out in the open
hand choked of blood and oxygen
I cannot take this
I cannot take this!
Something in my mind turns off
Something in my mind turns on
I chew the soft parts away easiest
it slides in my mouth
my teeth are cold and wet now
Chattering and lurching sounds
come from my mouth & teeth
as the splinters of bone
crackle away in my bite.
It took either a minute or a day
But it was over.
And so,
I left it there
tied to that black chair.
I opened the glass-paneled door with an exit 'bing',
and I was happy I never met the Doctor.
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 1:52 PM UTC
That tapestry,
Red, Black, Gold
A Celtic Circle--
silently bearing witness
to the proceedings
of that smoky room:
The aquariums--one with
the large eel who seemed
to barely fit the tank
that took up half the wall;
and the smaller, vibrantly
colored fish in the
aquarium with the eggshell
colored coral.
The remixed music played
at a comfortable volume,
by the DJ we knew
so well, together;
as many times
it hardly seemed like
he was working at all,
as he just sat down and
talked to us, for hours.
Looking through
those over-sized books of
old advertisements,
and explanations of
historical artwork;
discussing the contents
with strangers,
who became friends
in the process.
Smoke billowed, enveloping
the atmosphere and filling it
with the smell of many spice
racks, pleasantly rolled in a
shell of a soft breeze
flowing from the oscillating fan.
The smell of joy,
of a relaxed sense of mutual
understanding; that it was okay
not to say a word, because the
atmosphere did the talking
for us.
We just enjoyed sitting
on those red pleather couches
that your **** sank back into,
not allowing my feet to touch
the floor; so they often just
dangled, legs swinging
to the tempo of the music.
As I took a hit
of the hookah,
I manipulated the smoke
into O's, puckering
my lips, trying not
to laugh as you
gazed at me in a
shy sense of wonder.
That face always made you
want to kiss me.
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 3:38 AM UTC
A flamingo in a bright back garden is grooming it’s feathers. What it sees from the shade cast by the statues of ancient Gods and facing an incarnation of the Buddha is a mystery. Balanced on one foot in a corner pond covered in dark green pads and innocent opulent white lilies it peers down towards the warm tiled floor. The limestone slabs are etched with chalk hearts like fortune cookies next to hopscotch and drawings of monsters and men. I am a scatter-brain, but I cannot feign an understanding of what this bird is looking at, and so fondly. Parched dead leaves not cleared from autumns past dwell below a dusty circular patio table mixed with used cat litter and fallen grapefruit that have dropped from the tree above. Though most of the colour is muted or bland there are infusions of vibrancy from the vermillion bed sheet to the violet bloom of clusters of flowers that pierce through the vines and corrugated iron. My garden at Giverney without a bridge in the centre of the picture, there are instead are two chairs. Comfortable chairs whose metallic legs and arms glisten in the light and whose black pleather fabric absorbs the heat of another wild day.
The flamingo is a strange visitor to this garden that is mostly derelict and sparse,
It’s gangly frame leaps out of the water ***** it’s wings and departs.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 7:49 PM UTC
It was a highway that brought me here
Stuffed into a expensive car with four adults and good music
We drove for what seemed hours
Arriving on the slick, black streets of the Emerald City
Down a rabbit hole of old cars and termite ridden stairs
Past an old couch and a stray cat
Into a cold room with heaters stacked and jumbled
Full of pianos and good and beer
People I've known for twelve years
And people I've met only once
People I don't know
Different skins, of their own, of animals
Frizzy and cropped hair, wine and mason jar glasses
Walls painted silver, gleaming under forty year old lamps
Mismatched furniture and occupants alike
Sirens singing in the background
Children running through the foreground
Old friends and a blind man with a big dog
Visual artists and IRS agents
Musicians and carpenters
Mechanical engineers
Cobbled together around and old fireplace and a rosewood piano
Sharing stories and songs, sons and daughters
Tales from the road, and wedding pictures
I sat on an orange pleather couch in the makeshift kitchen
Watching theses people's children play with bionicles and dolls
Reading books and drawing on walls
Playing drums and answering calls
Fighting for bathroom stall
These are my people
I know them all
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC
she paints her smile on
and turns her weary thoughts to the
sunlight streaming weakly through the open door
she hesitates on the cusp of her movement
and carefully considers stepping out there
but is instead captured by
the motel balcony's chipped concrete features
it powder's the mind with years it has seen
the nineteen sixties frat boys
and the seventy's hard hitters
but that train of thought evaporates into the
open sound of his shouts from the parking lot below
she lays a trembling hand on her bag
and casts an attempt of deep gaze around the soiled room
for lingering pieces of their adventure
before stepping into the light furnace of day
the sudden appearance of the highway near at
hand tumbles into her field of perception
tonight they will be hundreds of miles north is her thought
she checks the doors lock and half stumbles to the stair
she dreads the events to unfold
dreads the hours of engine noise and his muttering
the mindnumbing noise of the radio
and the etched features of roadway benith wheel
somewhere up the road this will end
that knowledge is secure
all things change
but enduring is the cuckold of thouse who
thrive on the grieving of the unbearable
she leans her frame into the car
its japanese pleather is sticky
and she by pulling the door shut acknowledges
her departure
they move to the road
with seeming intent
a backward glance of longing is her only consolation
they are travelling once more
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
assign me a piece of your mind and
to the bottom of my rucksack it’ll go and
its whispering will shake all the change and
bad and same i keep stuffed in there too and
send shrapnel singing straight at my heart but
don’t worry baby, it’s as tough as
brand new pleather and don’t fret sweetie as
though i don’t really have the funds as
long as what seeps ‘tween front teeth as
whispered ammunition is still friendly fire as
i hold your pan, i’m your darling refugee but
don’t feel bad about it honey 'cos
if you smile just right, then we’re a rainbow 'cos
i’m the sun and you’re just rain 'cos
hell is hot and raindrops have halos ( i said that cos
you can’t trust people not to get mixed up) but
please,
please,
don’t be offended
you aren’t the first person to be so dependant
please,
please,
cut the drugs that you’re taking
and send some to someone whose fingers aren’t quaking
please,
please,
pass me the ***
consult a dentist re: bleeding gums,
please,
please,
just let me cry,
**** your equations,
don’t be so polite,
please,
please,
please go away,
don't pretend not to hate me
and promise to say
nothing at all
but what is true
“that ***** only gave me
standard super glue”
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 9:56 PM UTC
Stepping out of the February cold, Janie removes her wool scarf as the bus door closes behind her.
Route E-2, Westbound.
She shuffles down the bus toward her usual seat; second from the back, left side. The driver starts the bus and from her seat Janie can hear him singing along to “Summertime” by Janis Joplin. The bus is always empty this late and if there ever is anyone else aboard it’s better not to converse. Safer that way.
The brown pleather seat in front of her is peeling towards the top. Janie leans forward and idly picks at the scab-like dangles of brown as she watches out the foggy window. She idly picks and peels until she feels her hands wetted, cold. Looking down, they are covered in blood and mud.
“What. The. Actual. Fuck.” She whispers, wiping her hands on her scarf. She continues to peel back the leather and a trickle of deep red begins to run from the seat back, clumps of mud slowly falling too. Then, she sees the white of a bone. The bus turns right.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
Snags in her tights,
Chipped black on her claws,
She stands against walls,
Vulnerable to the brawls.
A skirt grazing her thighs,
Too small for her liking,
She pulls at the seems,
And feeds the old men lies.
Lips that bleed,
Mascara stained cheek,
Frame too slim,
She's in the gutter, sensual and meek.
Lady of the night,
Rolls to your car,
beckons you with her finger,
hopes you won't linger.
A ten note slips,
Into her grip.
She squeezes.
It will feed her addiction.
She has money to pay,
Children to feed,
She digs her knuckles so much they bleed.
Life carries by,
As she tries to get high,
On the fumes of other men.
But the red light comes on,
Her skirt hitches up,
She cries as he whispers
good girl.
As he kisses her neck,
She thinks what the heck
Am I doing with my **** awful life,
Selling cheap love,
To father above,
In hope she gets a better price
than the tiny sum
From every business bloke that comes, beckons her into his arms.
She pulls at her pleather,
At her last tether,
Why am I in this life?
Soho's her home,
But it leaves her numb to the bone.
She has more than budget passion,
She craves style,
She fashion.
But instead the needle pierces,
And she sinks down,
Hating the body she's in,
Women walk and they frown,
But they don't understand how the girl feels deep down,
She just wants true love.
Oh heaven above?
If there is a Holy Spirit,
Let me be it,
For this withered young **********
Belongs in your constitute,
Please, she begs, save me from the charity brutes.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
I bought some leather pants today
pleather, to be exact
they were cheep, but what I wanted
They fit tight on my legs and loose on my hips
they cling to my nonexistent ****
and make me feel **** for the first time in my life
and somehow they make me feel rebellious
and less invisible
If I wear them to school tomorrow will they all stare?
I hope so
I need someone to notice me
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
I wrote you a letter, oh was I ever the fool
To think that you'd want me: the geek at the pool
Maybe if I wore a v-neck like those dudes you like
Or if I wore those pleather pants and had a motorbike
But instead I'm wearing swim trunks that are sporting Spiderman
The kid one, not the knock-off of the movie from Japan
My complexion's pasty white, like I was locked away for years
And my aversion to the ocean's only heightened by my fears
Of public humiliation, but it seems I've got that down
Because no matter what I do, I'm the laughingstock of town
So when your letter got here, it came as no surprise
To read. **** you, Jason T. Go and dry your **** four eyes."
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 1:53 AM UTC
All my **** got repossessed
By an aardvark in a leather vest
That he swears is only vinyl
But won’t tell me where to buy my own
He says if I can go six months
With no late payments
On my credit card statements
He’ll let the name slip
I’ve got to get my **** together
Or this cruelty-free vegan sleeveless pleather
Statement piece might slip away from me
So, these days, I’m
Dedicated to paying
This debt I’ve accumulated
Despite the social detriment
Withdrawal and depressive episodes
All in the name of
Improving my credit score
Until when?
The day comes up
That I’ve paid for the stuff
That I bought without paying for
I’m practically stable
By now
The aardvark from the IRS
Reappears as my remaining debt and interest
Dwindles into a less pressing account
For the withholding public servant
Who’s about to grant me access
To the privileged information
I’ve been craving for months
It was an Etsy shop
And they’re all sold out
Dec 21, 2023
Dec 21, 2023 at 9:50 AM UTC
The cab moved quietly
Beneath the street lamps
Pleather seats: torn, faded
There we sat, silent- content.
The driver, a portly man, hacked
Struggling, his breathing deepened
Panting, gasping to regain regularity
Quickly, his breath filled the
Confined, litter-shrouded,
Van with the stench of
Cheap cigar smoke
We arrived at her home
The driver approached slowly
Carefully avoiding the icy snow
Banked earlier by the cities plows
Sliding the van door open I step out
Still holding her hand, the night air
Enters my lungs, sobering me
Just for that brief instant
Hastily, she leans in
Without hesitation, I meet her
Ambitious advance, reciprocating
The kiss is brief; I’m no longer cold
Her lips are warm and soft against mine
Retreating, she smiles. I gently brush her hair
Behind her ear unveiling a dark brown eye
My glazed, drunk, stare meet hers
Her grin, now beginning to fade
She looks down in confusion
I sense the cab driver behind me
Growing impatient he lights a cigar
Before turning away she whispers night
Her hand lets go of mine; our fingers part
Complacent, tomorrow she will return to him
Revisiting that feigned, simulated, infatuation
The kind they falsely advertised as ‘love’
Standing alone, I’m cold once more
Keying in, she doesn’t look back
Reaching into my pocket
Scrounging for what cash is left
To the cab, I surrender my last five dollars
This pays just enough to get me where I stand
Dissatisfied with his tip, the driver departs cursing
Unsure what to make of the evening, I begin my walk
Now, not so sobering, the night air dries my throat
The chilled breeze that once blushed her cheeks
Now stings my nose, ears, and finger tips
Alone, I continue west- home
Cold, I have miles ahead
Spirit torn in twain
I walk them.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 10:03 PM UTC
Tuck into your suit and power.
Stand tall amongst dwarves.
The ditsy mistress polishes the pleather
Fake sheen, fake ****
Fake smiles, fake gits.
Cheesy grins all round,
Lap up that cheeky cheddar cheese.
Now onto desert.
Jul 11, 2020
Jul 11, 2020 at 8:13 AM UTC
Staring at the man
who wishes
for me to
sit down
I will crush it
that spherical demon
high strung with
cotton twine and pleather
Throw at me, bro!
Gaussian function
calculated velocity
ready to strike
Don't cross my domain
this is my house!
my sneer gets sneerier
my grip intensifies
KAPOWzawazzzzA!
the earth quakes
my energy released
Sixty feet to victory!
I move like the wind
of hurricane force
I feel a POP!
Thirty feet to saftey
I limp
back home
I'm too old for
this $hit!
Heat and ice
twice thrice
doctor's reason
out for the season
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 3:25 PM UTC
That moment of awkward forced eye contact between strangers
On a hot and crowded public bus.
My reflection on the screen of my laptop seems to soft
Against the harsh rattles, jangles, clatters.
Peculiar people spoiled by the heat.
Thighs stick to pleather covered seats..
While candy apple red hair with a wrinkled face
Speed talks keeping pace with the changing place
Outside wide tinted windows,
Miss hand gestures competes for air space
While the wind whistles through an open window.
Shadows dance across the broken dreams
Of a forlorn man wringing withered torn hands.
No silence draws attention like his can,
Stands out like a numb spot
On a sore thumb. Falls nicely behind
The loud roars and murmured hum.
The whole seen a dysfunctional sort of thing,
But I think you would better yourself
If for one day you let your guard down
And climb into a packed space on a hot day
And made friends with
That moment of forced awkward eye contact between strangers.
May 15, 2012
May 15, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
We are all reverberating shrapnel of an explosive kaleidoscope of organized chaos
We’re scurrying ants piggybacking bread crumbs that press too-heavily on our abdomens
We’d scratch our way up to the constellations on the ceiling if we could just be weightless; if we could just find the right handgrips and footholds
But shoelaces get tangled, palms get sweaty, knuckles get scratched, bodies get heavy
So instead we settle for ducking into tunnels, seeking out the empty train-cars and avoiding eye contact with strangers
Seated alone in tattered pleather seats, we wish we could dissolve the stained grimy window-glass that stands between us and everything that could matter
We’ll force smile-lines into our cheeks when we reach our destinations while quietly scrabbling at the semiprecious dream of a place that we can’t articulate: the unattainable, inexplicable else else elsewhere
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
I wanted to toss
something,
I wanted to feel
your body
like
palm prints
on my windowshield.
Write
"I HATE YOU"
all over me.
I can take it.
I've got thick skin,
but my heart
is shallow;
you could touch
it
before your fingers
grace
the pleather
of my backseat.
I fake it alot.
Some girls think I'm macho as ****
but really,
at my creamy center
I **** them
like they are splinters.
Just trying to get it out.
So let's back out.
What's a splinter
to a whole human?
Nothing.
Nothing but an irritant
that itches,
when the computer
is on a high-wire
glitch
and these girls climb telephone poles
thinking
they're fixing
me.
When really you've boled
a hole
in everything
and climbing poles
gets them farther
from my core.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 11:01 PM UTC
The two sat together on the ripped pleather diner booth,
eating mashed corn meal and sipping luke warm tea.
Who were they?
Dencher paste and a floral dress.
What used to be, lingering in the past like a faded sepia photograph.
Two booths behind them sit another smitten pair,
eating hamburgers, fries and sharing a Butterfinger milkshake.
Who will they be?
Laced up boots and faded blue jeans.
What's ahead of them, a mystery wrapped in a paper box, laced with a bow.
A present.
Both pairs remain in the present,
frozen in time for only a short while.
The older couple waves to the younger couple as they leave.
"See you later Grandma," the young girl says with a knowing smile.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
And I'll try to get along
for the sake of my lover
but you're just so selfish.
You show no love for each other.
He's goes to quite a length
just to show you his endeavor
and you're just so fake
like a jacket of pleather.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 3:33 PM UTC
Him
He is there
Pleather Jacket bleaching the top of his hair
He is
New
Strange
I get a weird feeling looking at his face
Fake gauges
Long eyelashes
A new student to the school
He has two of my classes
He is
--- Unidentified
I'm intrigued
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC